none yet
by Jag Love
Summary: The meeting scene that I may use in a novel I want to write when I get time. Note to Pazza Regazza, Le Tigre, the Get Up Kids, and Pepsi: I have no money, so if you sue me for using your names, I can't pay, but I will change tham if you ask politely.


Our eyes met across the smoky club. The dim red table lights glinted in his eyes as he turned and said something to his friend, motioning toward me. He looked back at me, and quickly away. I felt myself flush and stared intently at the ground as well.  
  
"Excuse me? Miss?"  
  
I looked up. It was his friend, the one he had spoken to. "Yes?"  
  
"My friend over there," he motioned toward the dark-haired hero, who looked away again, "doesn't have the balls to come over here and ask you to dance." He finished, chuckling.  
  
I nodded and looked back to my dark hero. "I'll go talk to him." I said, over my shoulder, already pushing through throngs of people as though I was magnetized, being pulled closer and closer to a great being. A minuscule little moon; boring and dull; gravitating toward a star, a sun; incandescent and radiating beauty on all around.  
  
Our eyes met again. I was only about twenty feet away this time. I felt my heart literally palpitate as I began to notice the little flecks of gold spun into his deep, dark eyes.  
  
"Hi. Your friend said you wanted to talk."  
  
"Actually, I said dance, but I prefer talking."  
  
"As do I," I said, smiling with relief. "I'm not a very good dancer. My name is Anankeara. If you can't say it, call me An."  
  
"Anankeara?" He said, pronouncing it better than- oh what's his name? - Devon ever could have. "I'm Elija. No 'h'. And I'm a horrible dancer. I look like Frankenstein."  
  
I laughed, and he smiled, his eyes crinkling up at the corners, his open mouth revealing beautiful white teeth.  
  
"So, Elija-without-the-'h', would you like to go for a walk and get out of here?" I asked, looking around the dismal club with all the horny teenagers simulating copulating on the dance floor.  
  
"I'd love to, An-if-you-can't-say-Anankeara."  
  
We got our coats (October is a chilly month in Boston) and began walking the blocks. We talked about random topics, things such as where we were from, families, friends, and so on.  
  
"Where are we going?" I finally asked, after meandering for at least half an hour.  
  
"There's a little club- not like the one we left- about a block away. There should be a good band playing there." He pointed to a green and blue neon sign. "The New Leaf". I wondered what kind of club it was as we got closer and he held the door open.  
  
I was immediately immersed in familiarity as the sound os The Get Up Kids' "Mass Pike" drifted to my ears. I love that song. Every time I hear it, it just makes me so happy. I don't know why.  
  
"I love this song!" I breathed as we walked over to a table in the corner. I looked around, noting a small stage with equipment being assembled.  
  
"Hey! Eli!" A stout, but not even husky man called.  
  
"Nick! Hey man! What are you doing here?" Eli replied, smiling broadly.  
  
"Me and the guys were bored." He pointed a thumb over his shoulder to the bar, where there were two guys sitting, one blonde, tall, and thin, the other medium: brown hair, tan but not dark, medium build, medium height. "We all went to the Pazza show, but it got canceled, so we drifted here."  
  
"Really? I can't believe Pazza canceled!" He exclaimed. Then, seeing me, remembering I existed, he added "Oh, this is my friend Anankeara."  
  
I extended my hand, which Nick shook. "Please to meet you, Annannk- Onkann"  
  
"Just call me An." I said, smiling politely.  
  
"OK, thanks." He said, looking relieved. "Eli . . . I have an idea." Eli looked intrigued. "As you know, Pazza was supposed to play here after Le Tigre finished. But they canceled here as well. Our entire band is here . . . So . ." he paused, anticipating Eli to finish.  
  
"So, you want to play?"  
  
"If you want to, I guess." Nick replied, feigning disinterest. Men. Rarely true to their feelings.  
  
"What about the others?"  
  
"They suggested it."  
  
"Alright, but we play last. I want a chance to talk to Anankeara." He said, turning away and facing me. We walked over to the little corner booth.  
  
"So, you're in a band?" I asked, genuinely interested.  
  
"Yes. A small local one." He answered, not minding my questions at all.  
  
"What genre?"  
  
"Usually emo, but we cover riot grrl- and yes, we're all male, and straight- and some punk. We call ourselves 'Without Hope', though it regularly changes."  
  
"What instrument do you play?"  
  
"Guitar. I also write a lot of the lyrics. I've been playing for nine years now, and I can also play bass, drums, keyboard, and," he said, smiling devilishly, "kazoo."  
  
I laughed. At the mention of years I wondered how old he was. He looked 21, easy. But here I am, an innocent and naive 17 year old fresh from high school.  
  
"So, An, how old are you?" He asked, reading my thoughts.  
  
"17. You?"  
  
"19." Younger than I thought. "You look like you're at least 20."  
  
"You look older than 21." I paused, sipping my Cherry Pepsi. "OK, emoboy. You must confess. Why were you in a skanky night club?"  
  
"My friend, who thinks all of Boston is a big ghetto, thought by meeting chicks, I'd get over my ex."  
  
"I'm sorry. How long ago did you break up?"  
  
"About six months." He paused, in his own world, obviously not wanting to pursue the subject. He snapped out of it. "You?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"What's your excuse?"  
  
"Oh, the night club." I said, realizing what he meant (I am truly slow.) " Almost the same. My 'ghetto' friend thought it would help me forget a crush- unrequited love, you see- and make me forget that I want an oi boy or an emo guy. So, I got dragged and coerced."  
  
"I see-" He was interrupted as Nick came to the table with the thin blonde man and the medium man.   
  
"Eli? We're going on in 45. OK?"  
  
"Yeah. An, this is my band. Nick Solace, who you already met, on drums. Mitch Douglas," pointing to medium man, "on bass. And Paul Lydon," thin blonde man, "on second guitar. Without Hope, this is Anankeara. An if you can't say it."  
  
"Hey." (That was Mitch.)  
  
"Hi." Paul said in a lilting Irish accent before turning to Eli. "We'll go set up. Are we beginning with 'Dim Shapes, Blurred Outlines'?"  
  
"Yeah." They left, and Eli turned to me, rolling his gorgeous eyes. "Sorry. So you were at the club to avoid oi boys, old flames, and emo guys?"  
  
"Yup. But I ended up leaving with an emo guy anyway," I said smiling. "Jen should be pissed."  
  
"I'm not really 'emo'. I'm not emo, I'm not punk, I'm nothing. The closest thing I am is dork. I am literally nothing. Not without Eris. Not since she left me." He said, with downcast eyes.  
  
"I'm sorry. Do you want to talk about it?" I asked because, as we all know, talking about it and venting always helps.  
  
"Maybe sometime. But now I've got to go help the guys set up. Are you staying to see us play?" He looked worried I'd say no.  
  
"Of course." As though I hadn't thought of saying 'I'm sorry, but it's really late. I need sleep before I get up to leave for New York. Maybe some other time.'  
  
  
  
  
Forty-five minutes later, I was sitting in the corner booth when Without Hope struck their first chord. I got up and stood in front of the crowd, in front of Eli.  
  
I'm staring up at the night's starry sky  
And I'm wondering about you.  
I'm wondering and hoping  
You're out there  
Somewhere  
Looking up at the same sky  
And thinking about me  
. . .   
  
I knew then, watching Eli, noticing not only the band's immense talent, but Eli's absolute radiance, I knew I wouldn't be going to New York any time soon.  
  
  
  



End file.
